Exclusive excerpt: 'Rescuing the Bad Boy' by Jessica Lemmon

HEA is sharing an excerpt from Rescuing the Bad Boy, the next book in Jessica Lemmon's Second Chance series. Rescuing the Bad Boy arrives May 26, but for the next few days, you can grab the e-book of the first book in the series, Bringing Home the Bad Boy, for $1.99.

Here's the blurb about Bringing Home the Bad Boy (courtesy of Forever):

The bad boy is back.

Evan Downey needs a new beginning. Since the death of his wife five years ago, the brilliant tattoo artist has shut himself away in a prison of grief that not even his work can break him out of-and what's worse, Evan knows his son Lyon is bearing the brunt of his seclusion. Moving back to the lake town of Evergreen Cove where he spent his childhood summers is his last chance for a fresh start.

Charlotte Harris knows she owes it to her best friend's memory to help Evan and his son find their way again, but she can't stop her traitorous heart from skipping a beat every time she looks into Evan's mesmerizing eyes. Charlotte is determined to stay strictly in the Friend Zone-until a mind-blowing night knocks that plan by the wayside. Now, if they're brave enough to let it, Charlotte and Evan might just find a love capable of healing their broken hearts ...

And the blurb about Rescuing the Bad Boy:

Not all scars heal.

For Donovan Pate, the lake town of Evergreen Cove is a minefield of tough memories-including the day he had to let go of Sofie Martin. Years later he still can't forget the taste of her lips and the feel of her killer curves. He knows he's too damaged, that he should stay away for her own good. But what the head says and the heart wants are two very different things ...

Seven years ago, Donovan broke Sofie's heart. Now her career depends on playing nice in order to pull off the charity fund-raiser of the decade. She vows to keep things professional ... yet working by his side every day doesn't make it easy to fight temptation, and it isn't long before she finds herself falling for this bad boy all over again. But loving Donovan means helping him face his past-so they can fight for a future together.

EXCERPT (from Rescuing the Bad Boy, Second Chance No. 2)

"Hello, Scampi."

A nightmare. I'm having a nightmare.

But she wasn't. If this were a nightmare, she'd be naked.

Unfortunately, the naked part had been very real. Like this moment was very real. Which meant Donny Pate was standing in her shop. For real.

He'd aged well.

Too well, she thought with a frown.

His ink-black hair no longer covered his eyes, but it was in the same longish mass that tickled her cheeks when he'd kissed her for the first time years ago. Still long and lean, his shoulders were broader, his chest more filled out. Dark denim hugged thighs with far more muscle than she remembered.

He raised one black brow and her eyes locked on to his silver-blue ones. Those hadn't changed. They were the color of the shallows when the lake began to freeze. They were the color of cold, the color of hollow. The color of her heart the night she'd slapped him in his stupid Jeep.

"Nice place," he said, and she realized she hadn't spoken yet. What was there to say?

Welcome home? How did you find me? What are you doing here?

That was a great question, actually.

"What are you doing here?" Rude, but then, he'd invented rude.

The corner of his lips lifted. Not quite a smile, but she could see she'd amused him. Good thing she'd retired from being his plaything, or his enticing smirk may have her swooning.

She'd done some growing up, too.

"Didn't expect to find you here." His tone gave no hint as to whether he thought this was a good thing or a bad thing.

Also: she did not care.

She was a professional. An in-charge, take-charge, confident woman who refused to let her one-time-roll-in-the-hay alter her personality.

"I'm the owner." Pulling her shoulders, she stood straighter and replaced the look of shock on her face with neutrality. "What can I do for you?"

His mouth shrugged as if impressed she'd made something of herself. Not that she wanted to impress him.

He reached into the back pocket of his battered jeans and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Her eyes grazed his attire: simple gray T-shirt molded to nicely built arms and a muscular chest. Jeans worn from age, but clean. A far cry from the Wharf's checkered chef's pants he'd worn day after day, and the ratty black bandanna tied around his head.

He unfolded the paper, the star tattoo on the base of his index finger a reminder some things never changed. It took her a few seconds to drag her gaze from his hands—amazing hands.

Large, roughened from labor, and marked with a tattoo she never knew the meaning behind. There was a newer tat next to it, she noticed. A black bird—or a crow, wings spread—on the fleshy part of his thumb. She could almost feel the phantom grip of his hands back then, on her hip, on her bottom…

Anyway.

Nice hands.

"I assume this is you."

She jerked her eyes from his hand to the paper he held. He didn't budge, forcing her to walk across the room. When she did, she became aware of how solid he was. Living, breathing, and right in front of her. He'd always been tall, but now he seemed to tower over her. A whiff of spice rolled off his neck, the scent snapping her back to the moment he'd had her back against the door in the mansion.

She closed her eyes against the memories closing in on her.

The rake of his teeth against her mouth, the way he lifted her like she weighed nothing.

"Couch or rug?"

Blinking twice to clear her head, she snatched up the paper and flipped it around to read it. No need. She recognized the contract Gertrude drew up last year, her weakness evident in the scrawled signature next to Sofie's indiscernible, loopy penmanship.

"Yes." She offered the contract to him. "That's me."

He didn't take it, shaking his head, and saying, "Not gonna work for me."

For a second, she was too stunned to speak. Her eyes went to her outstretched arm, then back to his face. "Well…I—it's not up to you." She folded her arms over her chest, hearing the paper crunch, feeling her anxiety creep up alongside her blood pressure. She couldn't lose her composure in front of him, of all people.

"I'm sure you can find another venue," he stated.

"Listen, Donny—"

"Donovan."

She felt her eyebrows pull. "Excuse me?"

"Donovan. Not Donny."

Okay, she was absolutely over his attitude. "If you can call me Scampi, I can call you Donny."

He shook his head slowly, the left and right motion intentional. "You took the dare. You lost. Scampi." He smiled. Actually smiled. It was a small crook of his lips, but it made him look a little sinister and a whole lot delicious. Her heart pounded harder, and this time her anxiety had nothing to do with the seven thousand things she had to look after for the charity dinner.

Find out more about Jessica and her books at www.jessicalemmon.com.